Kind Hearts, Broken Souls
by forever-ioand-ever
Summary: They were both broken. In different times, in different ways. They could commiserate and comfort each other, that was for sure. Perhaps they had even already done so. Oneshot.


Kind Hearts; Broken Souls

_2015_

It was that time again. The door to the morgue opened right on schedule, and Henry prepared to give the detectives the rundown of the bodies that had come in over the night.

"Morning, Doc," Hanson nodded.

"I see you've taken the good out of that morning, Detective." Henry replied as he turned toward the New Yorker. And only the New Yorker. Hanson was alone.

"Where's Jo?" Lucas asked, having observed the same thing.

Hanson shifted his feet, averted his eyes, as though the delicate subject he was about to broach would be more abrasive than expected.

"Personal day," he nodded, biting his lip. "It's the anniversary."

{•*•*•*•}

She didn't know why she was waiting. It had been twenty years since the last time she'd seen him at all, let alone here in what had somehow become their special place in the park.

Jo leaned back on the hard metal park bench, letting out a long sigh. She was exhausted, mentally, emotionally. She wasn't sure whether to hope this day grew easier to handle with time, or feared that ease, because that would mean she was forgetting her husband.

It wasn't Sean she was waiting for. She knew he was never coming back. She didn't want to face it, but deep inside she knew her husband was gone. No, she was waiting for someone else. An old friend; perhaps a mentor would be the better word.

He was just another visitor to the park, one who stumbled upon a distraught little girl at one of the darkest moments in her life. Somehow the stranger had known just the right words to stop her tears and remind the young Jo that there was hope and light left in the world.

It always seemed that when she ran away to the garden to escape her troubles, the stranger was there. He'd always say just the right thing, he'd always have the salve for her emotional wounds.

She hadn't come to their spot for a long time. When she finally did return, he was gone. She'd never thought of him as having a life outside of the almost magical garden, but eventually she realized he must have moved on.

When she'd gotten the call, that phone call that shattered her and her whole life to pieces, her first reaction was to come here. She'd spent hours begging, begging for a reason why, begging for answers, begging for her Sean back.

Begging for the long-forgotten comforting words from a stranger who had always been in the right place at the right time.

She never knew who he was, beyond a first name. And she knew it was crazy, but she called for him anyway. Quiet, a whisper at best, a gentle wisp that fluttered through the foliage and, to her disbelief, made him appear.

{•*•*•*•}

As soon as he was able, Henry left the precinct and began searching the city for Jo. He had no clues to her whereabouts beyond her late husband's name and her apartment's address, and he had only accessed those via some very-inadept snooping on her computer.

He'd tries the flat and, with no answer, he'd scoured the cemeteries; even those that had been long closed to new burials.

She wanted to be alone, that was certain. Henry knew himself the pain of losing the love of one's life, and so unexpectedly at that. He still, even after four decades, found himself in a more dismal mood on the anniversaries of special days he'd shared with Abigail.

It never got easier. Time couldn't heal. It might numb the pain, it might ease the pain, but the dull ache of loss would never leave.

He hated to think it had been easier with Nora, but it had. Perhaps it had been the cold distance she had put him at while in the asylum. Or perhaps it was that, if he so chose, he could return to London, return to that little family plot hidden in the glade of a rolling forest, and he could see. Her headstone, next to his, a finality and a reality he wouldn't have the luxury of for Abigail.

All this thinking got Henry thinking. Thinking of a small place in a small park, where a small girl had stolen his heart.

He'd had a feeling for a while now. When she'd mentioned her father's poor influence, he'd thought it a possibility. But there were, sadly, too many bad fathers in the world to confirm his hypothesis. What cinched it was her story about getting into the private school. He knew he'd heard it before. Everything, exactly as she had said as they went to investigate that gas station, he'd heard it all before.

And he knew exactly where Jo was.

{•*•*•*•}

_1991_

_New York City. His second home, the place he'd always return to when it got too dangerous wherever he was living out his last slice of eternity. Except this time. _

_He had come not to escape the past, but to reunite with it. _

_After a five-year silence, Abe had called him up out of nowhere and said he was opening an antique shop in New York City, maybe Henry'd want to check it out? Or add to the sparse inventory?_

_Without hesitation, Henry snagged the first plane ticket he could from Amsterdam to New York and was in the city within a day of the call. He didn't quite trust those aero planes yet, but they were a better alternative to the sturdy ships he managed to have a habit of dying aboard._

_When he'd landed at JFK, he quickly made his way to the nearest payphone and dialed the number his son had given him. Getting no answer, he decided to simply wander the city alone for a bit and surprise Abe that evening._

_Henry made his way out of the airport and into the city, through the mess of subway lines ten times as tangled as his last time in the city, and into a park mere blocks from Abe's Antiquities or whatever he'd called the store._

_Henry began strolling through the park, pulling his scarf tighter around his neck. He'd expected the city to be a little warmer, and was grateful for his fashion habit seeing as he'd donned a lighter trenchcoat for the day. He observed the growth of the foliage, the saplings he'd seen planted that were now towering trees, the flowers that had spread like wildfire across the planting beds._

_He found himself in a sheltered grotto-like area, with weeping willows all around and dewdrops sparkling on the tips of leaves. Almost like something out of a fairy tale, a magical place. In the center was a fountain, where a sculpted dolphin shot water for its blowhole as it majestically leaped from the endlessly small pool beneath. Across the walkway was a single solitary bench whereupon sat a young girl, maybe eight or nine years old. Her curly brown hair cascaded down from two pigtails held in place with obnoxious pink scrunchies. She wore a vibrantly colored loose dress that looked to Henry like an oversized t-shirt on her petite frame. She held her head in her hands, and Henry thought he could make out the sound of hitched breathing, as though she'd been crying before his arrival._

_Henry was drawn to the child. He didn't know why, but he just was. Maybe it was sympathy, perhaps empathy. She needed comforting, whatever was going on._

_Or perhaps it was simply unexplained. There was just something about children. The most honest and least judgmental of the human race-when someone caused an innocent soul any sort of pain, Henry found himself longing to protect them from any more harm._

_So Henry found himself sitting on the opposite end of the bench. He said nothing, made no move toward the girl. Strangers these days were getting more and more dangerous; he didn't want to scare her away._

_The girl peeked out from between her fingers at the man sitting next to her. Wiping away a tear, she lifted her head just a little to better see the stranger. The dark haired man turned toward her and offered a small smile. She found herself returning it._

_Man and girl faced forward again, not speaking but nonetheless acknowledging the other's presence. Every so often, the girl would shift herself closer to Henry. When she was about halfway to him, she offered a shy hello._

_"Hello," Henry returned, a little taken aback that the girl had actually spoken to him. And now that she had, the ensuing silence, Henry found, was quite awkward._

_"Lovely garden, isn't it?" He mused to fill the dead air._

_The girl smiled as though concealing laughter, then gave him a curious look. "You talk funny."_

_We're she any older, Henry would've taken offense. But the girl was just that: a little girl. She was still able to speak her mind, society hadn't told her it was wrong. Yet._

_"You think my voice is funny speaking English, you should hear me say something in my native language," he offered with a warm smile._

_She replied with a nod, intrigue sparkling in her chocolate eyes._

_"Helo, fy enw i yw Henry ac yr wyf yn siarad Cymraeg."_

_The girl cocked her head like a curious canine. "What?"_

_"Hello, my name is Henry and I speak Welsh." He clarified in English._

_The girl smiled and nodded, then offered Henry a lingustic challenge of her own._

"_Hola, me llamo Josie y hablo español. That means my name's Josie and I speak Spanish." she explained proudly._

_Henry re-positioned his legs so as to more comfortably turn toward Josie, which he promptly did. he extended his right hand, but unsure what do do with it, ended up placing it between himself and the girl._

"_Pleasure to meet you, Josie."_

_The little girl's eyes suddenly went wide with a realization only in her own mind. "I...I've gotta go now," she uttered, almost tremulously. "See ya, Mister Henry."_

_{*.*.*.*}_

_It had been about a month since Henry had returned to New York, and he'd already been killed again. Crossfire in a drug deal gone south. He'd ended up in the East River, which luckily was as close to the shop as he could reappear. Luck had been on his side in his latest life, for when he reached the payphone, a kind soul, or a very forgetful one, had left the exact change necessary to place a call. _

_He hadn't died in a few years, he'd forgotten that horrible morning-after feeling, waking up and realizing that you were shot dead the night before, that you'd been shot dead numerous times, and that once upon a time, the day you were now living was only a mere dream for your progeny._

_Abe, understanding his father's moods after a death, let him have the day off. When Henry declared his intentions to make his stay more permanent, Abe had offered him a job at the shop until he found something in his preferred profession. The two were often asked if they were brothers, and it hurt Henry's heart every time he had to answer in the affirmative._

_To escape all of the chaos, or rather to sort out all the chaos in his mind, Henry found himself again in that magical grotto of the park. _

"_Mister Henry?"_

_Henry turned at the tentative, soft call of his name. On the other side of the bench stood Josie, still in pajamas and her hair a knotted mess. The little girl slowly walked over to him and wrapped her arms around him in a big hug._

_"What's wrong?"_

_She was so sincere. Her big brown eyes wide with compassion for a soul as hurt as her own. Henry could see the bloodshot hue to the whites of her eyes and the trails of dried teardrops on her cheeks. Even without that, she was obviously distressed, yet here she was, asking him if he was alright._

_"It was a long night." Henry sighed. He wanted to ask the same of her, but was afraid of coming off as rude and scaring her away. _

_"They took my daddy away last night."_

_She stated it as a simple fact. The young girl stared into the distance, reliving the terror in her own mind. She had offered the fact as a feeble attempt at commiseration, but now needed the comforting herself. And Henry acutely sensed it. He rested a hand on her back, pulling her closer to himself, silently offering her the choice to expatiate or simply drown herself in the comfort of another human being._

_"'Don't touch my special snow, Josie,' he'd always say. Daddy made snow for his friends all the time, even the really mean ones. He'd always give it to them at night 'cause it's secret special snow."_

_Josie stopped her story to wipe a tear. She sniffled and, giving up on solving the snot dripping from her nostrils, wiped her nose on her sleeve. Henry pulled a handkerchief from his pocket and placed it in her hands._

_"Last night one of the super-super-super mean friends came. I don't think he was Daddy's friend at all. He just wanted in on the secret special snow._

_"He didn't have enough money. 'cause it costs Daddy a lot to make the snow so his friends have to pay for it. And the mean guy had a gun, and Daddy had a gun, and shooting and flashing lights and sirens..._

_"I was scared, so I ran. I saw the police take Daddy and the mean guy away in cop cars. And there was another guy on the street, and he was scared too. He was hiding behind the dumpster. I think the mean guy shot him."_

_The story sent chills down Henry's spine. He'd hidden behind a dumpster the night before. After being shot in a drug deal. The snow Josie was talking about had to be cocaine._

_She'd witnessed his murder and didn't even know it._

{•*•*•*•}

_Some place in time and memory, but not the same for both_

"Josie, look up at the sky. Do you see all the stars shining?"

"N-no."

"Exactly."

"What... What do you mean, Mister Henry?"

"The stars are there, Josie. You just can't see them in the light of day. At night, they break through the dark and light up the world. People can be like that, too. They're shining and steady and beautiful, but it takes a dark time to appreciate just how much they do. And sometimes it takes the darkness, the hard times, the days you wish would never happen, for you to break through and shine like the star you're meant to be."

"This is one of those hard times. The hardest. When it feels like someone you dearly love betrayed you in the worst way possible. But Josie, you'll shine through, and I promise you'll be all the stronger for it."

They said the last line in unison. He'd said it before, she'd heard it before. Jo didn't quite realize she had even said anything, that she had heard anything, that the dialogue had been more than a memory from her childhood.

She felt a gentle touch, an arm carefully embrace her, and looked up to see him.

"Henry?" She asked tentatively, unsure of which man she was seeking or even looking at.

He nodded.

"_Mister_ Henry?" She emphasized the title she'd bestowed upon him from a childhood-ingrained respect.

He nodded again, a plaintive smile crossing his face. "It's me, Josie. It was always me."

"But... I was eight. You were... You're the same. How-"

"Don't you remember?"

{•*•*•*•}

_1991_

_"How did you get so smart, Mister Henry?"_

_"If you live forever, you pick up a thing or two."_

{•*•*•*•}

Jo set down her cup of tea, slowly stirring the bag around in the water.

"It was all true?"

"Every last word." Henry nodded. He walked around the kitchen island and into his living room. Pulling the cord on an upright lamp, he sent a warm glow shining through the space. A homey feeling, a peaceful feeling, settled on the three in the room.

They had come back to the apartment as dusk had begun to settle over the city. Henry offered her a spot of tea and an explanation, telling her the secret he'd casually mention two decades earlier, and brought up again quite recently through little esoteric hints. How he'd died, come back, and been doing it ever since. Of Nora's betrayal, meeting Abigail and Abe, of his love's disappearance. Of that night that forever changed Jo's life, the night he was killed by her father's customer's bullet.

And for some crazy reason, she believed every word.

* * *

><p><em>I've had this idea for a while now, just finally got around to writing something with it(: Jo's mentioned a not-so-great childhood, Henry's amazing with kids... It all fit, in my mind. Liberties taken on Jo's childhood. Liberties not taken on Jo's husband's name. Apparently Matt Miller said in an interview his name was Sean. If I'm declaring the various liberties I've taken, I clearly don't own Forever. I'd like to, it'd sure be fun, but sadly I don't. <em>

_Thanks for reading, I hope you enjoyed it, and yes, this is the end._


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